MAHZAD MORSALI: THE SAINT
Visuals by Aghigh Afkami
Do you remember the moment you fell out of love?
Last night I took a photo of K’s hands and for the one thousandth time, told him his eyes were beautiful.
I wish I could lull you to sleep like how Selene did to Endymion,
I could always find you and care for you as I please
I wish I could kiss you and lay beside you as you rest in peace
My passion and love only bring me pain and sorrow
The more you cover my love up, the hotter the flames burn.
What are you currently most fearful of?
I keep falling into this loop and rolling over. The feeling of being unloved, of being unwanted, I keep reflecting on the last few years. I am searching for a reason to explain why things are the way they are. I am doing all this to myself. I am placing myself into the poisonous dynamics of losing. I need to come face to face with everything that I am trying to run away from.
My heart rate hasn’t returned to normal, I could have a stroke any second.
What does being aasi mean to you?
In my head there lives a young girl aged, six or seven or eleven or twelve. In the corners of a tiny room with a small window and a narrow door, she sits with her hands pressed firmly to her ears while she screams with all her might.
In the empty space that separates the chest cavity, from where you can see my heart, I sense a heavy weight, a heaviness is increasing in strength, a heaviness that is made of nothing. It is expanding to the same strange rhythms of the trapped little girl’s screams. It seems as though there is blood coming out of the young girl’s throat; I think she’s cut her throat and the poor thing will need stitches. I open the narrow doors to the room and it’s as though beyond the threshold, they have built more walls.
The ground is laid with white stones and there is a small line of water that crosses the room. Only seconds ago, there was no water on the floor, but now it seems as though the faucet has been turned on for a while and the filth that has gathered by the drain is swirling in an elaborate dance and it’s funny. The screaming doesn’t stop, not even during sleep. It is expansive and has taken on the role of ambience.
I’m going to get sick. I’m serious. I’m really nauseous.
